


the capua institute for the gifted

by turnthedial



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 05:48:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnthedial/pseuds/turnthedial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Subject 317 is a twenty-two year old male, recruited from the army, and a sullen little bastard, if you ask me. Preliminary tests have returned positive for enhanced strength, reflexes, and pain threshold...317 was placed in the arena with subjects 172, 195, 248, and 96. 317 killed them all. Further study has proven necessary."</p><p>Superpowers AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the capua institute for the gifted

**Excerpt from the personal files of Dr. Quintus Batiatus:**  
 _"Subject 317 is a twenty-two year old male, recruited from the army, and a sullen little bastard, if you ask me. Preliminary tests have returned positive for enhanced strength, reflexes, and pain threshold. Sedatives were necessary upon arrival, but we have been decreasing the dosage daily. Doctor Glaber was in favor of putting him down as Subject 244, nicknamed Crixus, presents the same abilities as 317. Approval was granted and 317 was placed in the arena with subjects 172, 195, 248, and 96. 317 killed them all. Further study has proven necessary._

_The orderlies have taken to calling 317 Spartacus."_

Nasir is cold. His head aches, a dull throbbing that resonates in time with his heartbeat. His mouth tastes stale and each time he swallows, his stomach lurches and a bright starburst of pain lances through his throat. It feels like he has swallowed razor blades. He is seventeen and he has tested positive for mutation. There are only five thousand of his kind in the world, or so the doctors say. Hours ago he had been pinned and prodded, had his blood drawn and chalky pills forced down his throat, had his senses tested, his teeth inspected, his throat swabbed. Now, sitting in a white, sterile room, the steel of the medical table warm beneath his skin, Nasir feels raw and disconnected. He thinks that he will never do it again, never use his powers if he can just -

The door opens and a man in a white lab coat - a doctor, then - strides in, flipping through papers on a clipboard and looking largely bored. He moves fluidly, strides over to Nasir and seizes his chin, tilting his head this way and that. "Nasir," he says, his tone friendly and jovial, the "ir" in Nasir's name extended until it's almost song-like in quality. "My name is Dr. Batiatus and I am in charge of you," He releases Nasir's chin and takes a step back, flipping through the papers on the clipboard again. "Lessee. Seventeen. _Orphan._ Blah blah _blah._ Foster care, foster care, and now you belong to us." Nasir wants to protest at the use of the word _belong_ , but his headache has been getting progressively worse, the doctor's voice only adding to the pain. "We've given you an ability suppressant. Could cause a bit of a headache, dizziness -"

Nasir feels hot, unbearably so, and his chest feels heavy with too little air. He grips the side of the medical table for support, distantly aware of Batiatus rattling off symptoms or _something_ , but Nasir can't be really inclined to pay attention at the moment. Instead, he is hit with a wave of dizziness before he jerks forward, vomiting onto the floor in front of him.

"And nausea." Dr. Batiatus finishes. He sighs almost dramatically, pulling a walkie-talke from his lab coat pocket as Nasir weakly leans back and takes deep breaths. "We'll need an orderly in here. Bring a mop."

\--

It takes a few days for Nasir to get used to the drugs, to pull himself out of the overwhelming sense of lethargy and nausea that they create. Upon his removal from the testing room, he is taken to another room. This one has beds, a window with bars on it, and a roommate that is introduced, but to Nasir, he's nothing more than a blurry face. Nasir sleeps. And sleeps. And sleeps. He wakes periodically, roused by his head being pulled up, water and more pills shoved down his throat. Then, more sleep. He dreams, sometimes, of his brother or warm sand or needles. Sometimes, he wants to open his eyes or move his limbs, but he can't. They're too heavy, they're paralyzed, he's paralyzed, what's happening -

"Wake up." Hands at his shoulder. Nasir tries to roll away. "Dude, seriously. It's been like three days." The hands become more persistent, shaking his shoulder, flicking ear, his nose. Nasir hisses and goes to bite. "What the fuck -"

Nasir opens his eyes. He is under crisp, white sheets, the sunlight fanning across them interrupted by the shadow of bars. The rest of the room is almost entirely bare. There is no other furniture, no closet, nothing except a door, one other bed, and a boy standing at his side. He has taken a step back from Nasir's bed, his brows knitted together as if in confusion or displeasure. He is tall, Nasir recognizes immediately, and his hair, dark brown, looks choppily cut as if done on a whim. "I can't believe you almost fucking bit me," says the boy.

"Um," says Nasir.

"I'm Duro. We met before, but you were pretty fucking," He sits on his bed and gestures vaguely with his hand. "Out of it."

"I'm –“ Nasir sits up and winces, his muscles aching from disuse. "Someone -"

"Someone ratted you out, man, yeah," Duro shrugs his shoulders and raises his eyebrows. "Fucking sucks, I know. My fucking next door neighbor snitched on me and my brother."

Nasir tried to think of would have told the authorities about him, who would have even seen him use his powers. The amount of people that came to mind was disconcerting. “How long have you been here?”

“About five months. Fought in the arena three times.” He looks pleased at this statement, proud, even. Nasir has no idea what ‘the arena’ is supposed to mean, but he can take a few guesses, each one more worrisome than the last.

“They make us fight?”

“ _Well,_ ” Duro gives a noncommittal shrug. “I think it’s officially some kind of science bullshit. You know, to study our powers, but everybody knows the doctors place bets. And the ones who win a lot get better shit. What can you do?”

There seems to be no point in hiding anymore, but still, Nasir hesitates, “I…run.”

“You _run?_ ”

“Superhuman speed,” Nasir parrots the term that he had heard thrown around during his initial inspections. Duro grins, a brilliant flash of white teeth.

“Nice. You’ll get far with that one.” 

Nasir frowns and sits up completely, letting the sheets slip off his body, Someone has dressed him in faded blue scrubs, nearly identical to the pair that Duro wears. Nasir touches his finger to the leg of pants and thinks how it seemed such a short time ago that he was at home.

“You’re not going to start crying, are you?” Nasir looks up sharply. Duro is leaning forward, head tilted to the side.

“Of course not,” Nasir snaps.

“My last roommate cried _all the fucking time,_ ” Duro continues. “It was like ‘Dude, get over it. You can’t go home. Your family fucking sold you up shit river.’ He was nice, though. Shared his food.”

“I’m not going to cry.” Even as he says it, Nasir knows that he won’t. It’s almost as if the words give him strength, somehow. He won’t cry. He won’t let Duro – or the doctors – see that side of him. _I will be a statue._ He thinks. _I will be stone._

A single note, an almost melodic chirp, sounds once and the door snaps open. Sounds from the hallway, voices and shuffling feet, pour in. Duro stands and heads to the doorway, only pausing to turn when he seems to realize that Nasir is still in bed.

“C’mon,” says Duro. “Breakfast.”


End file.
